


Carver: Alone

by heartsyhawk



Series: Birds of a Feather: Katarina and Carver Hawke [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, But Carver doesn't know that, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Not Really Character Death, Templar Carver Hawke, carver week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 16:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18577843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsyhawk/pseuds/heartsyhawk
Summary: Carver reacts to the realization that Bartrand and the Expedition have returned to Kirkwall without Carver's sister and her friends.





	Carver: Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This was written primarily for Carver Week 2019, specifically the prompt "alone".

_He should have been there; It was all his fault._

His mind had been racing for hours and every single thought that had worked through his head kept ending back at that. If he had only been more persuasive, and been in the deep roads too, this wouldn’t have ever happened.

But it had. And it was his fault.

Earlier this morning, he had run into Bartrand at the Rose. There was something off about him and his entire mood but Carver had been too surprised to really notice it right away. For the dwarf to be back in the city, the expedition must have returned. And it seemed that it had...minus a few key members. 

There had been an accidental cave-in, Bartrand explained coldly, and it was lucky the only casualties were Varric, Carver’s sister, Katarina, and the two elves with them. He went on to snidely suggest that it was probably too much magic that had caused it in the first place--the Deep Roads were Dwarven built and should have stayed strong until the end of time, but magic was beyond even the best tunnel crafters. He also told Carver that Katarina and her friends weren’t half as useful as they’d promised, so Carver could absolutely forget any hopes of getting any money from the expedition.

The news was like taking a maul to the head and Carver was too numb to do more than nod and wander off as he processed it. Fenris, Merrill, Varric and his sister...all of them gone. Varric had been closer to Katarina than Carver, but he was a decent guy and fun to drink and play cards with. And Carver hadn’t been especially close to Fenris, really, but he liked the elf well enough. He was phenomenal with that sword of his and Carver would trust him--would have trusted him--at his back any day. But Merrill...he’d liked her a lot. She was sweet and had always made a point of listening when he talked and laughed at his jokes. He was wary of the whole blood magic thing at first, but she never hurt anyone who didn’t need hurting with it. She deserved so much better than to die in a cave underground. All of them had, really. Especially his sister. She’d worked so hard to get there and...shit. How the fuck was Carver supposed to tell his mother about this?

Thinking about Mother and her reaction dragged away the blanket of numbess and gave way to sharp hurt. Mother had only barely survived losing Bethany. And now here was another daughter, her first born child, dead and gone. Just like with Bethany, there had been no goodbye, no warning until after it was too late, and no body to have a proper funeral for. Maybe he should go back to Bartrand and ask where the cave-in had happened. He’d had no choice but to leave his twin’s broken body to be picked clean by scavengers and the fucking darkspawn, maybe his older sister’s remains didn’t need to meet the same fate.

His stomach churned with slimy horror. _Fuck, shit_ , this was all wrong! He was supposed to be there--to protect her! As soon as it had been clear Carver was never going to come into any magic, their father had sat him down and tasked him with keeping his sisters safe. It’s not that they were helpless, both of them were pretty far from it, honestly, but there was only so much magic could do, especially in a world so hostile to it. Carver was supposed to keep both of them out of trouble and out of harm’s way. And he’d fucked that up twice now. 

He wouldn’t ever forgive himself for not handling the ogre that got Bethany. He should have been able to fight it off, and maybe if he hadn’t been running the better part of two weeks, if he’d just been paying a little bit more attention, if he’d been a little faster, he was sure he could have.

He could have protected Katarina and the others too. Too much magic, Bartrand had sneered. There would have been that much less of he had gone with them. Merrill wouldn't have been there at all--she took Carver's place when Katarina let Mother demand Carver stay off the expedition, after all--and his presence would have made Katarina's magic unnecessary if he was there to light fires and move heavy shit and fight the fucking Darkspawn. 

But Mother had shown up at the last minute and argued with Katarina about taking Carver into the Deep Roads. And for the first fucking time in her entire life, Katarina had agreed with her. He wanted to be furious about that. But he should have seen it coming and demanded he go anyway. He had worked just as hard for the buy-in money as Katarina and he wasn't a child. He didn't fight them hard enough, though. So while his sister and the rest of the expedition went to risk everything in the Deep Roads, he stayed "safe" in stupid fucking Kirkwall. "Safe". What a crock of shit. He was alive, sure, and able to accompany Mother to the Chantry twice a week. He could get called names and cheated in the market. And all it cost was the only guy who had the time and ability to hold his own in a sparring match, the best storyteller since the pretty sister in Lothering, the first girl he'd liked this much since he was a kid, and the only sister he had left in the world. 

He was breathing too heavily and leaned against a nearby wall to support himself. He cursed bitterly as the coin purse at his belt jangled pitifully and the reminder of why exactly his sister had been on that expedition in the first place cut sharp and hot through the fog of his mind. Money...he hadn’t even thought about money in weeks. He never had, really; his parents had taken care of everything in his childhood and Katarina had stepped in when their father had died. He hadn’t stopped for a moment to think about what would happen if the expedition didn’t end in the financial security Varric and his sister had been so sure of. 

There was one sovereign, seventy-four silvers, and nineteen bits in his bag, give or take a little copper. His first thought was exactly how many appointments with Faith he’d had at the Rose and how much ale he’d had this week alone. His second thought was that was now all the money he had to feed himself and Mother and how that would barely be enough for two or three weeks with the inflated prices merchants charged refugees. Shame and fresh horror burned through him. He should have saved more. 

He was going to have to figure something out and find a way to earn enough money to support himself and Mother. And probably find them a new place to live once Gamlen figured out there was no money coming. He raked a hand through his hair and tried to think about his options.

The expedition had left a month ago. He’d come by the coin he had (and that which he’d already spent) by taking a couple odd jobs from Athenril, and an impromptu slaver raid with Isabela, and also from the pockets of the truly fucking stupid, and now very dead, members of Kirkwall’s assorted street gangs who kept trying to mug him. It was more or less the same way he and Katarina had been earning money since Varric told them how to secure a place on the expedition. But it wasn’t a realistic permanent goal; Athenril and most of the employers interested in hiring desperate people for their dirty work had been a lot more interested in Katarina’s magic than his sword arm and they paid a lot more when she was part of the deal.

He thought for a wild moment about maybe going and begging Aveline for a job, even shining the guard’s armor or...or working in the Keep’s kitchens--he’d done that at Ostagar and wasn’t half terrible at it. His gut squirmed angrily at the thought, though, and he decided against it immediately. He wouldn’t be in this mess if Aveline had given him a chance in the first place. If he’d been able to hold a respectable job with regular pay he could have probably afforded to get Mother and Katarina out of Gamlen’s little hovel. There wouldn’t have been as much urgency and his sister wouldn’t have had to...

He blinked, his eyes had blurred, and tears were dribbling hot and horrible down his cheeks. He wiped furiously at them. Now wasn’t the time for this. He didn’t have time for what-ifs, or getting overwhelmed by his own grief, he needed to figure out a plan. He was alone now, the only one to take care of Mother, to help them find some footing in this Maker-Forsaken city. 

He took a shaky breath and ran through a list of things he was good at, and things that could make money. He had done alright on mess duty in King Cailan’s army, but nobody in Kirkwall would hire a Ferelden refugee to work in their kitchen throwing out trash much less actually touching food. He could ask if the Madame at the Rose was hiring, but suspected his mother would actually die of shame--after she violently murdered him,of course--if she learned Carver was working at the brothel, even if he was only working security or doing laundry. Really the best thing he had going for him was being handy with a sword. He grit his teeth and tried thinking about the ways he could use that to his advantage. While the City Guard was out of the question, he could pick up something as a private bodyguard for some noble, or maybe something at the docks. He hadn’t got as seasick as his mother and sister the trip over to the Amaranthine Sea to Kirkwall, so maybe he could work on the fishing boats. He was strong and life on a ship was the best life for anyone, to hear Isabela talk about it..

Isabela. Oh. _Fuck._ He was going to have to tell all Katarina’s friends that she and the others weren’t coming back. They’d all loved his sister in different ways. Isabela and Katarina had got on thick as thieves from the day they’d met. Before the expedition had left, tbe pirate had been trying to teach his sister some roguery, like picking locks and pockets, making poisons and explosives, and cheating at cards, with varying degrees of success. He also didn’t relish the idea of telling Aveline. As much as he resented her for telling the guard to refuse him, she had more or less become part of the family and did love Katarina like a sister. And the Grey Warden...he wasn’t sure at all how Anders would take the news. 

The thought of telling the mage his sister wasn’t coming back was easily the worst apart from telling Mother. Carver had seen the Warden mage devastated once before and didn't relish being the one to tell deliver the news someone else he cared for was gone. He wasn’t half as stupid or as blind as he’d have to be to have missed the flirting and batting of eyelashes and general mooning his sister and the other mage had gotten up to when they thought nobody was looking. And Anders had been very against the expedition idea in the first place. So against it, Katarina hadn’t even considered asking him to join, despite the value of a Warden in case of Darkspawn. It seemed now that he had the right idea all along.

He grit his teeth and scrubbed furiously at his eyes; the stupid things were leaking still. He didn’t really have the energy to get upset over how a man who hadn’t even had the stones to kiss Katarina, or the pirate who wanted to take her shopping for hats was going to feel about losing her. Her friends would take it hard but she’d never not been in his life. He’d never even stopped to think she wouldn’t always be; even after they lost Bethany, his older sister had seemed like an indestructible force of nature--or at least she acted like one. But now she was gone too, and it hurt like hell and it was all his fault. And he still had to tell Mother.

His chest felt too small and tight. Mother didn’t know. She was probably making dinner right now, and she didn’t know. There’s no way she could. He didn’t want to bring her that news. Maker, he didn’t want to know himself. He wanted to believe that Katarina could come home any time. He wanted to see her again and he wanted to tell her that even though they didn’t always agree he respected her and would have done anything to keep her safe. He wanted to be a child again in Ferelden with both sisters curled under a blanket by the fire with the dog. 

The dog...a sob slipped through his lips. He had forgotten his sister had taken their Mabari, Boots, on the expedition with her too. Carver desperately longed to bury his face in the dog’s fur and cry until there were no more tears left in him. Maybe then he could focus on figuring out what to do, but even if Boots hadn’t been caught in the cave-in, he wouldn’t leave his bonded person. Theoretically, if Katarina was alive, Boots might have returned to Kirkwall seeking help, but Bartrand would probably have mentioned the dog if he’d been among the survivors. It was much more likely that he’d been caught in the collapse with Varric and the others, or had simply lay down to die with his mistress.

That thought was the final straw. He wiped desperately at his eyes again, but it was too late. His tears were streaming and his breath was starting to come in short, quick pants. He slid weakly to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed in a desperate attempt to calm himself down and get his breathing under control. He stopped fighting and just let the sobs happen.

“Are...are you alright, ser?”

A hand on his shoulder, wearing a heavy gauntlet and accompanying a slightly familiar Fereldan voice shocked him enough to get a little composure. He spun his head to look at the man who’s spoken. It was a Templar, and for a brief moment that old fear and wariness for his sisters’ safety flooded his mind. He jerked away with a scowl.

“Don't touch me,” he snapped.

“I am sorry, I should not have...wait. We have met.”

Carver nodded. Now the man had said it, he recognized him as the templar he and Katarina had met during the business with Wilmod and Keran a few months back. Katarina had spent a lot of time in the following weeks making noodle jokes about his tightly curled blond hair and mocking him for telling her, a mage, that mages weren't people. 

“You’re the Knight Captain...Cullen, right?” Carver asked warily.

“I am.” Cullen nodded stiffly. “And you are Hawke's brother, if I recall.” Carver winced. He felt a flash of familiar irritation--Hawke was his name too!--punctuated by a searing pang of grief. “I must apologise; if I was given your name last we met, I have forgotten it.”

“Carver,” he said simply. 

The templar nodded again and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I was just on patrol and I heard you. Normally I expect people in such a state near the Chantry. It seems a foolish thought to voice, but I wanted to see that everything was quite alright?”

Carver raised an eyebrow and stared hard at the templar for a long moment. He bit back a sharp retort about how people who were alright generally didn't break down crying in public and for the first time, actually processed where he was. He had collapsed just over the bridge to the gallows. He was standing in the shadow of the templar barracks.

He stared past the Knight Captain, at the ominous stone fortress behind them. Father had been in the Gallows, had raised his children on tales of the horror inside. All three of the Hawke Children had grown up wary of Templars, Katarina and Bethany especially. He’d spent the last year and a half avoiding the place as much as possible, to keep his sister safe. But at the same time...it had been a Templar who helped Father to freedom. He owed his parents’ marriage and his own existence and even his name to that Templar.

Ser Maurevar Carver had given Carver’s parents a way out of Kirkwall, a safety net, and a way forward. If a Templar had made those things possible then, well, perhaps that could happen again. Clearly they accepted Fereldens into their ranks, and the pay had to be pretty steady. He was already fully trained in combat, and had a lifetime of experience with mages. There was a tiny voice in his head suggesting he was betraying his father and sisters for even thinking along those lines. But how could it be betraying Malcolm’s memory to share his faith that a Templar could be a Good man? How was making sure Mother was taken care of a defiance of Katarina or Bethany, who had both died for that exact goal? It only took a few tight breaths worth of calculating to make up his mind. The decision felt foreign on his brain. Carver had spent so long avoiding Templars. But now Bethany and Katarina were both gone. He was all that remained and he had nothing to hide from the Order. And more than that, he had nothing left to lose.

He licked his lips and stared hard at the Templar standing awkwardly before him.

“Are the Templars accepting new recruits, by any chance?”

**Author's Note:**

> Carver gets a lot of flak for joining the Templars at the end of book 1, but I always thought it made sense given he thought his mage siblings were both dead and gone and Aveline actively told the Guard not to take him.


End file.
